spooky
by parchment-hyena
Summary: [Collection] He was just a kid; a glowing, floating, other ghost fighting kid. Sometimes though, he wasn't even that.
1. hunter boy

4.

Dean cleared his throat, and the kid's shoulders slumped even further. Warmth collected underneath the collar of his jacket, and he glanced around, words failing him. His attention strayed for a moment, and he almost wished Sammy were there, being pre-law he would know a way to... work this out, probably. Maybe.

He couldn't even remember his first time, how it felt; how he felt afterwards. It was a no brainer that he'd been younger, by a couple of years at most, and Dean knew he'd been prepared for it, but he still couldn't pull up the memories from the murky corners of his mind; still couldn't find the emotions to try and emphasize.

He needed to say something. He'd probably screw things up, but he needed to say something to the kid.

"It... was easier than I thought to kill a man."

Startled, Dean bobbed his head even as he realized the kid couldn't see him. "It wasn't really a... man, human, whatever, y'know."

A pale hand ran through black hair. "I... But still, I... actually killed him—It, I dunno, and frankly I don't care, but I _killed _'em," he breathed, turning to look at Dean, blue eyes shiny. "And it was so freaking _easy_."

Self-preservation was a human thing to think about; us or them, me or you, but Dean couldn't say that. He'd fuck it up, make the situation worse, so, he bit his tongue.

And, that was when it really hit Dean; that it really hit home that the kid was younger than he ever had been.


	2. camping trip happenstance

29.

With a growl, Sam pressed end call, and shuffled her phone back into her pocket before taking a sip from her glass of water. She glanced out the window, narrowing her eyes at the store across the parking lot. "Those two had better hurry up," she grumbled, going over the menu again.

Basically everything on here is meat, she thought as she flipped the sheet over, desserts it is.

The jingle of bells startled her, and she jumped, sloshing water onto her skirt and the menu as she knocked into the table with a curse. Grabbing a handful of napkins, she wiped up the water on the table before dabbing at her skirt, and looking up to glare at the two men who'd walked in.

The shorter of the two seems to brighten as soon as he caught sight of her, and Sam felt a tic develop under her eye as he all but swaggered—and who did that? No one she knew had _ever _done that—up to the booth just across from of hers. The taller one trailed after him, and by the roll of his eyes, she figured she was in for a common event.

Sam frowned as he winked at her, and plopped down into his booth, the last free corner one. Jazz had talked about it before; about Danny setting up in corners with his back to the wall, not that it helped with ghosts much if they came up behind him through said wall.

Huffing, she turned back to the menu for what she thought was longer than a minute before watching as the waitress wandered over to their table, and completely missing the sound of bells.

"So! Danny managed to find a map, and get pointed in the direction of good camping gear," came a familiar voice," and not only did he manage to knock down a rack of clothes but a couple of mannequins too while he was at it, so he'll be back soon-ish."

Sam sucked in a breath, and Tucker grinned from his place on the other side of the table.

"I don't think I'll ask how that happened," she deadpanned.

"Good, 'cause I wasn't there to witness it as it happened," he informed her, fiddling with his PDA. "So... how's the meat looking on the menu?"

The goth glared.

Two shins kicked later, a steaming plate of bacon, sausage, eggs, grits, and toast was laid out in front of the geek while Sam picked at her apple pie.

Chewing on the bit in her mouth, she glanced at the two men out of the corner of her eyes. The taller one was done, and the shorter one was just about done with his own slice of pie. Looking out the window, she sat up as she noticed the fogged up figure of her boyfriend walk from the back of their car, and to the door.

"Danny's back," she said, kicking the meat-lover in the shin again.

"Ow! Sam!" he yelped, dropping his fork as a jingle rang out through the dinner.

The taller of the two men jerked in their direction, but Sam barley noticed as Danny stepped closer and plopped down next to her. "What? You guys already eat without me?" he pouted, twinging his fingers in hers between them.

Tucker choked, and beat at his chest with a fist. "Dude! I'm getting abused over here," he wheezed.

Danny said something in return, blue eyes glinting in amusement, however, Sam wasn't paying attention anymore; the two men had gotten up, and were stepping close towards them around the waitress as she served the occupied table in front of their newly vacated one.

The tall one walked by first without so much as a glance, but it was different for the shorter one. He grinned at her as he got closer, and winked, and then the _screeching started up._

Everything seemed to stop, and a block of ice dropped into the pit of Sam's stomach.

There was a long silence.


	3. ruin the moment

6.

The door snapped open with a sharp crack, the wood splintering around the knob and lock, and twin yelps pierced the air in surprise. Dean and Sam barged into the room, guns loaded with salt and EMF detectors going mad, and ready for almost anything that could be thrown their way.

There were two separate thumps, but nothing more happened.

Violet eyes framed by disheveled black hair were the first things that appeared, and immediately disappear as the brothers leveled their weapons toward the furthest bedside. The blankets were twisted into a mess, pillows askew, and the two brothers shared a look as panicked whispering started up.

Eyes like the clearest of water appeared from the edge of the unmade bed, black hair spiked in every direction falling around them. The EMFs screeched, and the boy winced. "Uh... Can we help you?"

His face slowly appeared, and the hunters' faces flushed at the sight of his slightly bruised lips twitching into a frown. They shared a look, and slowly hid their guns behind their backs.

"Erm, no, uh, we didn't mean to interrupt; wrong room," Dean lied, shuffling himself and Sam back, "Sorry."

They pulled the door shut as best as they could.


	4. don't just put things in your mouth

4.

The light is sudden and ungodly bright, burning his retinas even though his back is turned; Dean lets the fungi drop from his hand and whirls around—it could be _anything, _and though he hopes it's Cas to spirit him out of the pitch hell-hole he had been tossed into, he's taking no chances—and he scrambles backwards just as soon as he gets his first good look.

Blinking rapidly, Dean sucks in a breath, the musk and stale air seizing his throat.

The ghost—he's sure it's one, it's a bit see through and faded, and _glowing—_is all skin and bones; it is probably the scrawniest thing he has ever seen, each rib showing in HD-quality detail. The thought that perhaps he might have been able to do something slams a fist into his chest, and he swallows hard as it shifts on the pile of dirt it's atop of.

"Those are poisonous," it intones, voice airy and faint, tone flat.

Dean darts his eyes about the hole he'd been dumped into before settling them back onto the ghost. "And how would you know?" he shoots back on reflex, jade on toxic green, and immediately regrets it.

Something flickers across the specter's face; it's eyes pinch shut for the briefest of moments before reopening, and the Winchester can tell that the room has grown a shade darker.

Whatever he had been expecting, it had not been for the phantom to grin.

Dean recoils as if struck, his heart stuttering in shock, and eyes wide.

It's teeth are bloodied even in death; it's gums a hateful dark purple and oozing a bubbly dark green, and if Dean had been looking, he would swear flecked with red.

"How do you think I died," it whispers, eyes radioactive bright and unwavering.

.


	5. mis-identification

1.

_"He's not what you think he is!" _echoes in Dean's mind as the world slows down. He sees the girl as her face steels, and her body tenses; he sees her burst into motion, and she's much faster than the world around him, and he sees his brother raise his gun.

The elder Winchester can already see what will happen as he whips towards Sam, the words stalling for a fraction of a moment too long as the words bubble their way up his throat:

_"Sam, don__—!"_

Too late, he'll always be too late.

The spurt of blood is short and quick, colouring the ground as the silver bullet met the girl's side. She'd protected the creature, defenseless as it was, curled on the concrete as its body ripples and flickers, with herself as the shield. She is pitching forward with a gasp when Dean finds himself moving, his rifle falling from his hands.

The shapeshifter is moving when he kneels next to the girl, ignoring a yelp from behind him. "Shitshitshitshit—_fuck,_" he growls as he stalls.

Dean is scared to touch her, and _fuck have we screwed up again,_ but he is given no more time to think as the creature uncurls itself, and blinks blearily toward the sky, trembling. As soon as it's muddled eyes lower and land on the girl sprawled across its chest something breaks—Dean can tell by how dead it's eyes become; how it's entire body stills, and the hair on the back of his neck rises—and then Dean's_ soaring through the air._

A scream rips through the air, pain and despair strung through it, and soon everything is shaking as it tapers into a wail. Dean's breath rattles in his chest as he gasps like a beached fish on the pavement, chest burning, as his ears start to ring.

_"Dean!"_

_"S-Sam! Danny! D-Danny stop! You're g-going to—"_

Windows shatter, and the sentence is lost to the growing rumble.


	6. it's a dirty job

3.

It doesn't fight anymore than it has too; the ghost just falls limp as its form ripples and flickers, slick with a cocktail of gasoline, holy water, and rock salt. Pain is all too clear in its shiny radioactive eyes as it looks up at the single brother, face pinched in determination, but resigned in its entirety.

It isn't afraid, and a shiver works its way up Sam's spine.

"I'm the same y'know," it says weakly, eyes hooded and partially obscured by its winter frost, white hair.

Sam doubts that, but says nothing in return. It wouldn't take his brother long to dig up the specter's grave and light it aflame.

The ghost grunts after a moment of silence, and curls in on itself as its body seizes. It takes a moment, sucking in breaths that Sam knows it doesn't need before looking back up to the Winchester. "I-I know you probably won't believe me, b-but we're both fighting to protect p-people who will never truly know what we've d-done for them—or, _w-was_ in my case, huh?" it jokes without any true humour.

The hunter frowns, and looks away. Ghosts of this kind were malevolent, and manipulative, willing to do whatever it takes to cling to their obsession. Sam scowls; he won't be fooled by the lies it spun, he's too smart for that.

Much too smart.

"_Oh._"

With its voice so faint and startled, Sam cannot help but look back to it, and take a step back in shock:

Its legs are beginning to chip away into nothing; legs pulling to pieces and fading into the air as they slowly ate themselves up from the ankles.

"_Ah, ah_," it gasps, eyes bright and glossy as it watches it's own legs disappear, and its stomach start to chip to pieces. "I—_Oh._"

The younger Winchester is only able to spare a moment to the thought that maybe it hurts to die again before his eyes meet toxic green; the ghost's chest is almost gone.

Lips move, and no words escape the phantom's mouth, but it's enough.

_"I forgive you."_

(Sam pretends he knows there will never be exceptions.)


	7. the future that was

_it's my birthday today guys ;w;_

* * *

0.

"Cas..."

The angel twitches minutely, his wings pulling close to his back.

He has already buried the creature, the earth soft and upturned marking the grave. Castiel knows what he has done is for the best; he knows it was not cruel; he knows it was necessary, but it doesn't stop the slight constriction of his chest at the way his name is said.

"It had to be done, Dean," he says as he closes his eyes. Castiel cannot fault him for his way of thinking for he'd only come along later, after the creature had breathed its last breath, drifting away into death. He knows how it had looked; how it had looked nothing more than a human child.

He stays long after the hunter has left, his grace slowly knitting together the wound in his shoulder. That single connection between he and creature had been enough, and a future had splashed across his entire being in a wave of red—_the world in ruin, cities destroyed and razed to the ground; humans pitiful in numbers and those that can fight, defend what little is left. The world is torn, and the creature's red eyes_—and then he had fought harder, much harder then he'd thought he'd need to, and then the monster had _changed_._  
_

_An adolescent, his mind tells him as he spears the monstrosity, and it slowly dies; the creature spits and rages, but it does not change back as the preternatural glow to its body dims and fades._

Castiel feels Jimmy stir within him as the sun dips beyond the horizon, the air grows cold, and the world silent.

_"... Thank you."_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._


	8. prevention is the best cure

0.

_["You will eliminate this... boy, Daniel Fenton."]_

His blade is unfamiliar in his hand, hot to the touch, and inches from the adolescent's drowsy blue eyes. Fear, and pain flicker in their depths, and Castiel's mind is torn asunder as they sharpen in awareness. The boy isn't completely human, he knows that, but he is... different.

And... this... this isn't the same. Samandriel had been compromised—_but he knows better, and it will haunt him—_but this human, this human child had done no wrong. If anything, he had done the mortal world good, time and time again, much like the Winchesters... so much like them, it's all Castiel can do not to see their faces in the boy.

There's a flicker of black light, and it glints off of the angel's knife.

His arm trembles as he pushes and pushes for his limb to stall; the angel clenches his eyes shut in pain, and flares his wings in anger, his knuckles no doubt turning white in the strain. He has learned to hate _so much,_ and this would be just another thing to hate _himself _f_—_

The boy suddenly stiffens under the angel's hand, neck muscles tightening and pulse throbbing, and Castiel's eyes snap open; the boy's eyes are fixed behind him, past his clean-shaven face, and wide in disbelief.

"Y-You're... an a-angel?" whispers the boy, Daniel, and his clear water eyes take on such a stricken and horrified look it causes a physical pain to erupt in the Thursday guardian's chest.

Of course... he'd be able to tell.

The angel leans harder against the boy's chest as his control slips, and rears his other arm back, the limb visibly straining.

A sob chokes itself in the adolescent's throat.

_["This is for the greater good Castiel."]_

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._


	9. ghostbusters

_wasn't gonna update today either since i don't have much i really like typed out with lack of inspiration but i kinda feel bad since i left y'all hangin' last sunday so here ya go! also, has anyone else figured out my numbers yet? Might write you up something nice if you're the first ;) but no comments just on that or no deal whether i like your idea or not _

* * *

7.

The temperature drops, the slight breeze turning bitter and cold; the wind bites angrily at Dean's cheeks before he hunches into himself and faces away, the air beating at his back. The hunter flinches as the EMF in his pocket shrieks one long note before falling silent, the smell of burnt wire curling into the air.

"Sam—"

"I know! I know! I'm hurrying!" his brother responds, another clot of dirt joining a growing mound. Dean's pretty sure he's all _bitch-face_ but makes no further comment.

Clouding the air space in front of his face with his breath, the elder Winchester flexes his grip on his rifle after a moment, eyes slipping over the head stone before back to the grave as there's a sharp _crack_ and wood starts to fly out in pieces.

A shadow flickers in the of the corner of his eyes, and he whirls. The blast of rock-salt chips a corner off of a headstone, but otherwise finds no target.

There's a beat.

_"Way to keep it classy," _teases the air, the last bit of outside warmth draining away as the fog presses inward.

Dean whips back around, shotgun tight in his hands. Narrowing his eyes, he peers out into the thick fog before looking to his brother as he climbs out of the grave and picks up the canister of gasoline. "Sam, pour—!"

"Y'know," purrs the same voice, echoing lightly in the elder hunter's ear, ice cold," that won't work on me."

The shorter man jumps, startled, and his finger tightens on the gun's trigger. A chuckle echoes through the air as Sam throws himself sideways, dodging the rock-salt as it buries itself into a gnarled cherry blossom.

Dean barley has a second to react as the sleeves of his brother's shirt bunch up.

"H-Hey!" the younger Winchester yelps as his feet leave the ground, the fog swirling around his huge frame.

The air laughs, full of childish glee. "Who you gonna call?" it warbles in sing-song.

"_Fuck_—put my brother down!" Dean barks, uncertainty colouring his undertones as he warily aims his gun because _what the hell kind of ghost is this_. He has bested some of the nastiest ghosts, and come out worse for wear but alive but _what. the. hell._

There's a snicker, and Sam falls back to earth a moment later, the ground unforgiving and unyielding as he lands wrong, and the spirit fades into view.

The feral grin spread across the ghost's face pinches its eyes in mischief; rage nor cruel amusement present in its entirety, the ghost pulls at its lower eyelid, and a healthy pink tongue slips out.

Toxic green eyes crinkle shut as rock-salt tears through its face with no resistance, the edges of its body blurring blue and its colours washing away into dull tones as it laughes.

Dean swears.


	10. wisconsin ghosts

_hm hm _

* * *

2.

You steady your arm, clutching the barrel of the gun closer toward your chest. The house is dark and dusty from unhabitance, and the stone floor is cold under your worn shoes. Pain thrums steadily from the surely mottled purple that is your ankle, but you only allow yourself to limp slightly, biting into your cheek to stifle your gasps.

It's when you step out into the hallway that you glance to your left and catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye. Whirling around, you let loose a round of rock-salt. It buries itself into the wallpaper curled walls without incident, and you're left wondering.

But only for a moment.

You turn and come face to face with it, your heart stuttering in mute panic.

Vertical from the ceiling is a boy, and he almost looks to be your brother's age. Radioactive eyes bore into your own, and your breath clouds the space between your faces as the seconds tick by. The gun is useless in your hands when it is already so close to your person.

_He's assessing me, _you realize as the ghost's eyes narrow to slits after what seems to be an eternity.

Your mouth opens but the entire structure shakes at the same moment, the walls of the mansion throwing dust everywhere. You gag as you inhale in shock, coughing as the dust invaded your airways.

The boy's eyes go impossibly wide.

"You need to leave," the spirit says, eyes trained to something behind you, voice distant and far-reaching," You need to leave _now_."

You turn.

There's another ghost further down the hall, eyes of blood rubies, and the gun drops from your hands. A orb of vibrant pink is festering in its hand, throwing the hall's shadows wickedly, and you take a small step back.

Wood _cracks _from somewhere behind you, unmistakable as the sound of a wooden door being kicked open.

_"Sam!"_

The world ends in pink hell-fire.


	11. black is the absence of colour

please forgive me for these sucky chapters; lo siento mis amigos pero mi inspiración se fue de vacaciones m;;

* * *

1.

The nail polish on her left index finger is chipped.

"Sam?"

Her chapped lips twitch.

"_Sam?_"

An inky black has replaced deep amethyst; a grin so out of place stretches across her blood speckled face, and it. Promises. _H__ell_.

"Kid... that ain't your friend anymore."


	12. obsessive is an understatment

i am so far behind in SPN right now haha

_**Sapphireswimming:** _Dude, you are like so close to having the right idea (sorry for the late reply) and thank you so much for your kind words they mean so much to me ;w;

**_Habato: _**The numbers probably don't mean as much as you wish they did (but here's a longer chapter)

* * *

0.

You're aware; your conscious tingling in a reboot, a restart. Your vision comes back, spotty and pulsating with a white noise, but layered_ a smoldering crimson. _

Your hands are moving but you're not doing it; your body is moving but you're not directing it. You can't feel your fingers ghosting over the slick gun but you know it's not you in control.

That's when you notice it.

It's there and then it isn't; it's a non-entity that is sharing space in your head and it's not friendly. You shove at it, pushing mental hands into its sides with bruising force.

It laughs at you, a trickle of blood is slipping from your nose, and.

then the limbs are sliced off at the wrist.

You shut down from the _blinding painohgodohgodohgodithurts__—_

[_"You're not as strong as you'd like to think you are, **boy**."]_

A roar fills the normally clever space between your ears, and then you're aware. Consciousness rushes back in a wave of fire, a burning pain, but it fades to a dull growl, and then you can see.

You don't know where you are, but the man in orange has the biggest grin on his face you've ever seen and.

his eyes look tired, and sad.

A hiss rings loud, and you shrink back.

The man chatters on, lips moving without a single sound reaching you, and throws an arm over your shoulder_—any other time you might have been surprised; he's tall_. You're thinking you might be in his home when a girl and an older woman come down some stairs. The girl zeroes in on you, her eyes narrowing, but you only have eyes for the older woman in that moment.

Your entire being burns with desire.

She smiles at you and whatever is crowding your mental space swells, pushing against you.

You're vision flickers.

The scene has changed, the walls are a shiny metal and the room is cluttered with technology, and the man has his back to you.

The gun from before is in your hands.

You start yelling, beating at the thing controlling your mind with re-imagined but thin hands. You shove and you shove, and your yelling devolving into screams as you throw all that you can at whatever it is.

It knocks you aside, perhaps with a bit of effort behind it, and your vision shutters out.

[_"And now she's all **mine**."_]

Beeping beats hard at your ears, and you groan, brown eyes slipping open to slits.

Your heart jumps, skipping a beat.

The man is a bloody smear against the wall, blood darkening the orange jumpsuit in dark patches and pooling under his hulking frame.

Someone screams.


	13. the end is nigh

I recently lost a parental unit, so bear with me 'kay?

* * *

0.

Castiel is a mile out, emptying his last round of ammunition into a group of croats, when it happens.

The savage and mindless infected woman leaps at him, clothes in tatters and eyes wild, and is frozen before his very eyes. The sudden block of ice flies into him, knocking him to the ground and into the dirty slush with a grunt.

There are shrieks and mad grunts as the powerless angel struggles to lift the frozen body off of him, his fingers burning against the frigid temperature while his arms ache with fatigue; while his body tingles in the onset of withdrawal. He just manages to scramble out from under the dead weight as the last of the Crotoans is suddenly an angry and twisted block of ice.

His skin itches and crawls as he shifts his eyes around the disturbed area of snow. The gun is useless in his hands, but he holds it tight, drawing it up to his chest.

"_You're... not infected are you?_"

Castiel's arms are moving before he even realizes it; he swings the gun around in an about-face, and it passes harmlessly through a pale face and toxic green eyes.

The continuing momentum throws him into the slush once more.

There's a snicker, and Castiel rolls over onto his back with a groan.

A ghost floats in the air above him, hair as white as the snow that stretches out for miles.

The former angel laughs, arching up off the wet ground as his abdomen clenches.

"I... I made... it," he barks, gasping.

_Alone._


	14. the language of hate

Lie to Me is a great show just so you guys know

* * *

0.

The contempt and disgust flash so quickly Jazz almost misses it.

She hesitates in the hug her brother engulfs her in the next moment, startled and tense. Nothing feels different; the hug is just as tight and quick as to be expected. Leaves poke out from his hair, and his clothes are scuffed, but his eyes are clear and so very blue. Jazz smiles at Danny when he let's go.

His returning grin doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Jazz's lips thin, and she steps back, narrowing her eyes as she meets... his.

"What have you done with Danny?"

His upper lip twitches once more before his face floods with confusion. "What? Jazz, c'mon, I just went through the ringer with both Skulker and Technus."

Jazz bites her lip, the smallest bit of doubt festering. "Where is my brother?" she presses, fingering the ectogun in her right hand. "What have you done with him?"

He blinks, and Jazz jerks the gun up with a gasp.

"_Sorry_, but Daniel isn't here right now."

Bottomless black stares back at her.


	15. bark bark bark bite bark bark

anyone figure out the numbers yet, hmm?

* * *

0.

You've never been possessed before, but you have been controlled but _this is nothing like being submerged under Freakshow's control._

There is no hazy vision and warm tingles encouraging you to do things_—__oh you want to do this, you want that, lets take that_; no blissful sleepiness, or bell like voice whispering nothings to you in comfort.

Whatever it is, it stretches your skin, holding it taut and itching it all over. It's much too big for your body, and all you want to do is dig roves into your epidermis, scratch up the layers of dead cells and let _It _seep out in trickling lines of red.

Sight buzzes into being like the start up of an old television, and you struggle to make sense of what you're being shown.

A man is crumpled against the wall just in front of you, and an ecto blast is festering in your hand.

His eyes are livid, wild, angry, and hurt; their intensity rivals that of your radioactive green, and you inwardly flinch as your body steps forward.

"My, my, how the mighty have _fallen_," purrs your voice, but it isn't you. It's oiled and silky, much more smooth and deep. "Dean Winchester at my feet, how... _satisfying_."

The man—_Dean?_—spits at your feet, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. The green energy flickers in your hand, spiking with the ripple of annoyance that washes over you.

"Now that was just uncalled for," drawls the entity, and the pure, unadulterated hate curls uncomfortably close to your piece of mind. It's as thick as oil and grease, and it's rising slowly over you in thin, rippling waves of a shiny blackness.

"Fuck you," snarls Dean.

You've fought enough to know it's all a sham; he's given up, the bite is gone out of him but the man is not the type to just roll over and die quietly.

And that's just it, isn't it?

You surge forward in an explosion of green, and the invader screams in an array of sickly yellow.


	16. the guns who won the west

anyone have any ideas they'd be willing to share? ;w;

* * *

1.

"I want... to sleep for an... eternity."

She cradles his head, bent over him with a soft rock to her movements. Fat tears gather at the edges of her black lined eyes, and the salt burns at her eyes. The ectoplasm is soaking into her stockings and skirt, but she could care _fucking less._

Sam presses a kiss to his forehead. "Shh, it's o-okay, you can go to s-sleep now," she murmurs to him,"i-it'll be fine."

Glossy green eyes bleed blue as they blink up at her. "C-Can't, gotta... g-gotta beat... Tucker.. gotta p-protect the t-town ," Danny breathes before coughs erupt from his throat.

It can't be helped when she tightens her grip around him; the door is starting to splinter, the ice cracking and chipping off as the wood begins to break beneath it.

—_the hunters are just beyond the doo—_

"No, no, i-it's alright," she starts, running her fingers through his green stained hair, and choking back a sob," I'll c-cover for y-you; T-Tucker's already g-gone ahead, r-remember?"

Roots are crawling their way over her legs and his arms, twisting painfully into her skin, and no doubt into his as they inch up and up. Grass tickles her sides as it grows taller and taller still, sprouting around her and Danny in long tendrils of whispering stalks and pink pampas.

Danny smiles up at her, dopey and crooked, eyelids fluttering. "You'll be... h-here when I wake u-up?" he whispers, glow dimming against the surrounding grass and leaving it to her shades of purple.

Tears escape from the edges of her eyes, dropping onto the moss reaching across his chest. "Y-Yes, I'll be right h-here, T-Tucker too."

—_we're dying all over again and i'll be here, and i love you so much it hur—_

"You... Y-You promise?"

A _crack _splits the air, and the door falls forward.

"I... _p-promise_."


	17. upon deaf ears

/pats self

* * *

0.

_"No! Leave him alone!"_

The ghost is only a kid.

_"Leave Danny alone!"_

His radioactive eyes are flooded with fear and terror, and he tries to shy away from the looming hunter. Green plasm leaks from the corner of his mouth, and black lines branch out around his neck.

_"No, no, no! Leave him alone, p-please!"_

The girl can scream all she wants; the ghost has to go.


	18. siblings

remember to review please~

* * *

0.

"You took my brother away from me."

The words are sharp and bitterly cold; they cut deep and leave invisible, oozing wounds. Shame and self-loathing twist painfully underneath your skin, and you flinch, drawing back and turning your face away.

You think of your brother, hunching over too expensive books, and doing his damnest to forget you; to forget that the world and its people are not alone.

Electric eyes burn holes into your skin.

"Look at _me._"

Your eyes find hers, and the flare of deep sadness that engulfs you steals your breath away.

Her pretty face twists into a snarl, red hair fluttering in an invisible wind."I should take _your_ brother from you."

You tense, tightening your hold on the rifle in your hands, and gritting your teeth. Maybe if you move quick enough you can get to Sam before she did, put up protections and barriers and then find her grave and bur—

"But... I won't, he wouldn't want me to," the ghost says, the fire dying from her neon eyes. Her bright glow dies down, and she floats back a foot, face pinching to hold back tears." D-Danny was a good boy, and I wish you could have known that."

You're flooded with love, and sadness and hate and anger and defeat and—

"You, Dean Winchester, will believe in second chances and the benefit of a doubt," she intones, and her voice is everywhere at once; sharp bells and blaring trumpets, thrumming bass and a steady beat, her words take _hold_ of you.

Fat tears leak from her aquamarine eyes as your world flickers out.

"You will truly never forget."

.

(_benny. kate. castiel. gabriel. sam. lucky. adam. meg.)_


End file.
